She stood, and paced the kitchen, the tablet loose in her hands. She knew Noah was hiding something, but she’d thought it was tattooing without a license or selling weed or punching someone in a bar fight. Not a dad who was the head of an infamous bikie gang. Despite how people like Aaron regarded tattoo studios, she had never met a bikie. Her dad’s policy had always been to respectfully turn away men who wanted him to do club tatts. He was a hippie who took a dim view of organized crime and the violence it inspired. Yet, he’d hired the son of one of the most notorious bikers in Australia. Had he known? He couldn’t have or he’d have told her or Sam. And where was Noah in all this bikie business? His mum clearly wasn’t a fan of Harold. Had he grown up estranged from his dad? Outside the criminal lifestyle?
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered and Googled ‘Harold Newcomb,’ ‘Rangers,’ ‘Family’, typing quickly, as though the words might burn her.
The first result was a website called one-percentbikers.com.au. She scrolled past the details of Harold’s childhood and how he formed The Rangers in the eighties. The writing was amateurish and peppered with grammatical errors. There was no reference to Noah anywhere. She scrolled to the section labelled ‘personal life.’
From 1985 to 1995 Noah Newcomb was married to Natalie Dreyer. They had a son in 1985. He’s believed to have been patched into The Rangers in 2003.
Nicole’s heart was pulsing, pounding. It didn’t prove anything; anyone could set up a website and write any old garbage…except Noah looked like Harold and Harold was undeniably a biker and he had a son born the same year as Noah and Noah was big and scary and had big scary tattoos and…
“Oh mygod.” Nicole pressed the tablet to her forehead. “Oh my god, I tried to sleep with a bikie.”
What would Sam say when this got out? She hated bullies, and bikies were just bullies covered in the skins of dead cows. And Tabby… Tabby was going to freak out. They’d be lucky if she didn’t live stream herself confronting Noah and post it to every social media platform on earth.
Nicole paced back to her bedroom and locked the door. Then she curled back under the covers, shoes and all, comforted by the soft weight and the fact she was alone. That the secret was still hers. She couldn’t tell her sisters what she’d discovered. They’d accuse her of snooping on and suspecting the worst of someone they liked. She needed proof.
She unlocked the tablet and searched for articles about Noah. There was nothing. She expanded her search to The Rangers, but most of the news copy were lists of crimes with few names and details added. She neededcontext. To understand how dangerous bikers could be—how dangerous Noah might be. There was that TV show,Sons of Anarchy, but after scanning a few plot summaries, she doubted watching it would be helpful. She doubted Noah’s mother had ever murdered one of his girlfriends. She’d found an eBook,Blood in the Gears,that had been written anonymously by a Rangers ex-member in 2006. She bought it and downloaded the copy onto the iPad.
After a pit stop, she returned to her bed with a cup of peppermint tea and began to read. The first few chapters tracked the biker tradition from America to Australia in the 1900s. She skimmed the flabby exposition and wondered where Noah was. Home? In bed with Kelly? Riding a motorbike across the countryside because he was a criminal?
The memoir picked up slightly in chapter three. The author described how meth production and distribution boomed in the early nineties, flushing money into the gang. Everyone got new bikes and a three-storey clubhouse was paid for in cash. The Big Boss—Nicole assumed this was Harold Newcomb, though he was never addressed by name—threw a party with unlimited alcohol, cocaine and thirty ‘prozzers.’ Nicole thought of Noah’s bulky, greying father and poked her tongue out. Whatever they’d paid the sex workers, it hadn’t been enough. The role of women within the gang was limited and demeaning. They were either wives, granted a thin status as a biker’s property, or the ‘sluts’ who hung out at the clubhouse.
“They’re just holes,”the author wrote.“They hang around because of the money or the drugs, or to piss off their parents. Some just want a good fuck. Most holes get what they came for.”
Nicole made a face. That was the grossest thing she’d ever read, and she’d finishedAmerican Psycho.She remembered Noah, his fist in her hair, his mouth inches from hers.“I’ll fuck you in every hole you have.”
It wasn’t the same. He hadn’t been callinghera hole, he’d just been referring to the parts of her thatwere—
“Urgh!” She wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing, her rationalizations or the fact she wanted to rationalize Noah calling parts of her body…that. Did he see her the way the author saw the women who hung around the club?
The thought should have been repulsive; but all she could think about was how Noah watched her across the bar, hungrily, disrespectfully. She closed her eyes and was back in his van, her lips stinging from his bite.
You let me into that little pussy, I’ll fuck you until it hurts.
Nicole actually shivered. Her shoulders shook and goosebumps raced along her arms. Was this her fault for rejecting sex and danger? Was she now doomed to crave sex with bikers and the biker adjacent? She didn’t know. What she did know was that she needed to orgasm or risk insanity, but shecouldn’t. Not now she knew Noah’s secret...
Her lower body throbbed, and she brushed a hand over her sex. Just that slight touch sent another ripple of energy along her skin, making her whimper. She looked around the room but none of her silent possessions offered any assistance.
Resistance is futile, Tabby said.Get down to business.
Sam laughed.The business of giving yourself the business.
Nicole screwed up her nose. She did not need her sisters anywhere near her sexuality.
As though to assist her, their voices dissolved, and a fantasy began to play. She was standing outside The Rangers clubhouse, in jean shorts and her cowboy boots—they didn’t pinch her toes like they usually did, and her makeup was natural-perfect. Her hair looked great, too, thick and lightly curled.
Nicole settled back with a smile. This was a fantasy she could get behind. Now why was she going anywhere near a biker gang? Maybe she wanted drugs? No, that was spooky. Maybe she needed money? Yes, maybe her dad had cancer and couldn’t pay for chemotherapy, so she’d hired herself out as a—
Tabby’s laughter resounded in her head.‘This isn’t America, toolbox. We have universal healthcare. No one needs to suck biker dick for cancer.’
“Shut up,” Nicole told her. “This is my fantasy.”
Deciding to forgo the reason, she closed her eyes and imagined herself walking inside the clubhouse. It would be dark and crowded, full of faceless men. The music was loud, and she wandered the rooms, feeling uncomfortable. Red-faced men like Noah’s father and Chopper Reed were looking at her, closing in around her, their mouths slack with hunger, and it made her want to put on more clothes. She was just about to leave when a door opened and Noah strode in. His face was set and he was head and shoulders bigger than anyone else. His gaze fell on her and she lit up inside, the way she had last night.
“Get away from her,” he told the other men. He strode up to her, grasping her arm. “Why’d you come here?”
No, that would lead to the same ‘sucking penis for cancer’ problem as before. Besides, Noah wouldn’t ask. He never asked anything. He’d look at her with his electric green eyes then steer her into a room with nothing but a lamp and a mattress. “Lie down with legs wide.”
She’d twist her hands together, wanting him, but not wanting to show it.I’ve never done this.